


To Name Something You Scarce Knew Existed

by Saraste



Series: Femslash February 2016 [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Basically a fluffsy a little angsty ficlet of Sansa coming to terms with Margaery's flirting, Canon What Canon, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Femslash February, Getting Together, Kissing, Romance, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Sorry Ned!, Though canon compliant with book one, Wordcount: 500-1.000, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5970061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery flirts somewhat outrageously with Sansa - alone and bewildered at Kings Landing, cut out of her family, cast aside by the Lannisters - and Sansa must come to terms with what she feels and if she can feel what she thinks she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Name Something You Scarce Knew Existed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katajainen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/gifts).



> Not my first Margaery/Sansa, must remember to post the other one over here too, if I yet haven't. Set in book verse though my headcanon Margaery and Sansa do resemble the actresses quite a lot, and Sansa is the age she is in the HBO series.
> 
> This is dedicated to my sister, who got me into ASoIAF. *hugs* Thanks for making me sleep with Martin, sis! :P (This is an attempt to coax you to write some Margaery/Sansa, is it working?)

In her life, Sansa has been unsure of many things, equal to those she has been sure about. She isn’t one to throw herself to uncertainty, not after… after. She craves security, continuity, and the knowledge that her life will not be thrown upside-down at a moment’s notice. 

 

And that is why she is especially leery when Margaery is seemingly trying to get closer to her. At first she does not understand, for it is something that is out of her frame of reference, it is unthinkable. Yet, there it is, bright as day, once she admits it to herself.

 

_ Margaery wants her. _

 

Margaery wants to kiss her like a husband would kiss a wife, a lover a lover, and Margaery wants to peel Sansa out of her clothes and do things that Sansa has been taught should only be done between husband and wife in a marriage bed, not by two women, unmarried at that. Not that they could… 

 

Could they?

 

Sansa is hopelessly confused and, in that instant of helpless confusion, misses her mother fiercely. She  _ had  _ wanted to go to King’s Landing, embark on an adventure, ready to become Joffrey’s queen, his wife. Yet, here she is, now, Joffrey having cast her aside, her father dead and her mother somewhere far away. Here she is with Margaery’s sly crooked smiles which, truth be told, make something shiver deep inside of Sansa and make her feel things that she does not understand.

 

Alone in bed, during nights which seem to never end, following dull repetitive days and preceding uncertain tomorrows, Sansa tries to make sense of those sensations, doing the unthinkable and reaching where it aches… the first startled gasp always makes her stop. Yet she wishes she would go on, for it might feel startling, but only because it feels good and she has no idea what make of that. 

 

Margaery is in her dreams, smiling and teasing and standing too close, leaning in and breathing into Sansa’s neck, making her startle awake confused, twisted in the sheets, her body craving for things she has no knowledge about. Aching and needing in ways which are completely unseemly. 

 

She was always told of marriage, of a husband knowing what to do, her  _ duty  _ as a wife to acquiesce, to bow to his will. Yet she dreams of a pretty young woman, kisses and touches to her dark secret places. Of Margaery touching her where she herself darent...

 

*

 

‘Why?’ she finally asks, after weeks of interrupted sleep, and days during which she walks hand in hand with Margaery, entirely too conscious of every bit of uncovered skin touching, of Margaery’s every smile. They’re in a rose garden, a stolid stone bench their perch as they sit and talk.  

 

Sansa’s hand is in Margaery’s.

 

‘Why what?’ Margaery queries, mischief in her eyes, her sparkling clear eyes ever so bright. 

 

Sansa feels like she cannot breathe.

 

Was Margaery this close the whole time? Did she have that knowing glint in her pretty eyes the whole time? Why does Sansa’s tongue feel glued to her throat?

 

‘Why do you make me feel this way?’ Sansa whispers, against her better judgement, against everything she had been taught by Septa Mordane, against everything she thinks she knows about the world and what happens between people when they are in… She gasps. She _ can’t _ ! She wants to run, to hide, to throw herself from the ramparts down into Blackwater Bay!

 

‘And what way would that be?’ Margaery asks, closer still.

 

Sansa is shivering all over, her palms sweaty and her heart beating itself out of her chest. She  _ can’t _ . But oh, how she wants to!

 

‘I…’ all the words Sansa would think to say are stoppered at her lips as she stares at Margaery’s lips, slightly parted and wound into a secretly knowing smile. 

 

‘Befuddled?’ the words are breathed against Sansa’s lips, and cloth rustles, and sea birds cry, and the world seems to stop. ‘Mayhaps wanting a kiss?’ 

 

Sansa does not push Margaery away…

 

… she pulls her in, embracing uncertainty with careless abandon as she finds out at last what it is to be kissed and, later in a bed smelling of rose petals, what it is to lie with another, how to quench the ache in her for another’s touch, for Margaery’s.


End file.
